Seemingly Content
by dr.10rose
Summary: Spencer Reid has always had a rough childhood, but what happens when all that catches up to him? Can his team save him as he seaks refuge through cutting?


Spencer Reid strode into the bullpen lacking his normially chipper facade. However, he reached his solitary desk in double time and delved deep into the lands of paperwork before anyone had time to notice. Having just closed up a case, there was plenty of "said paperwork" to occupy the young genus's mind for the time being-although, when you could read **and** comprehend as quickly as he could, the small task was not altogether time consuming.  
And of **course,** following fairly far behind was play boy Derek Morgen. The, "chocolate goddess" as one overly colorful, tech savvy blond might describe him, sauntered over to his desk, only to change his destination upon finding his newly acquired pile of paperwork.  
Appearing in front off the young doctors desk, he watched contently as the unruly head of copper hair followed behind the frantically scribbling hand as it etched in the black marks.  
"Pretty. Boy." The older man crooned.  
Merely raising his head, the other man made a small grunt of acknowledgement.  
"Hey, you don't look so good!" Observed Derek upon witnessing the extensive bags under his eyes. "Late night, eh?" He winked, jabbing the poor boy in the ribs with his elbow.  
Not catching on to what his friend was implying in his sleep deprived state, he winced and piped up with a less than chipper,  
"Yes, actually. There's a new **bookstore** opening up, with quite a selection of books. Did you know that 78% of U.S. presidents have been left handed, while only 1 in 11 people are left handed in the U.S.? Although, I have my suspicions of the solidity of that fact." He quipped easily, even though he had not, in fact, been reading all night. Not that anybody else needed to know that. He could handle himself. Besides, they wouldn't understand. And they would all be so disappointed. He could see their faces now.  
However, to Spencer's great relief, Morgen ate the lie up and shrugged the others mans strange behavior off.  
Fleeing, Spencer rushed off to drown himself in sugar, with a bit of coffee to go along.  
Slowly but surely, the bullpen filled with its everyday buzz, and thoughts of a troubled Reid were cast aside.  
Midday rolled around, and our favorite team from the behavioral analysis unit began packing up to hit the bar for a quick lunch...all except one, that is.  
Reid remained seated at his desk as all his team mates prepared to leave around him. His wrists had started to itch earlier, but he had refrained from expelling his torture for fear of being exposed.  
"Ya comin' Reid?" Morgen called from by the elevators.  
"Not today, I don't think." Reid said, supressing a sigh. He really needed a break, but he didn't think he could handle being around his friends at the moment...not yet.  
Lately, he'd been getting more and more depressed, and-under dire circumstances-broken under the pressure and found release through disposable razor blades. Of course, he was always very careful. He never cut right before he had to go to the BAU, and never cut to deep, so as not to leave permanent marks. Always wearing long sleeves came as an advantage as well.  
Emerging from his office, Hotch descended the stairs and **appeared** infront of Reid's desk.  
"Take a break, Reid. You've earned it. Everyone's going out."  
"No, really." The other man argued. "I'm fine. I was actually hoping to call my mother, I didn't get to the other day."  
It wasn't an entire lie. He was planning too. And he had missed the phone call. But since it was around 12 o'clock, he knew she was busy, and didn't want to disturb her.  
With a last assessing glance, Hotch continues on towards the elevators with the others.  
Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he let his head drop to his hands and released a long groan. Curling his fingers into his hair, he yanked. Hard.  
He'd been feeling so claustrophobic lately. He wasn't sure if it was the schizophrenia getting to him, or he was just finally cracking under the pressure, but he needed to get ahold of himself before the team found him like this. And the one way he achieved that release was cutting.  
He knew it sounded bad, especially coming from a "doctor" and all, but if he didn't, then everyone would see him for the weakling he was. Then he would just be abandoned, just like with his father.  
He couldn't have that.  
Rising from his seat, he made quick work of grabbing the extra razor from his messenger bag, and making his way to the men's room. Since nobody was around, he didn't have to hide the blade.  
"Reid?"  
Crap.

Sorry, this is my first fanfiction, and I think this chapter is a little off! I promise it'll get better! Please let me know what you think!


End file.
